


Aftershot

by lessiehanamoray



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Appreciation Week, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 05:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20773004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessiehanamoray/pseuds/lessiehanamoray
Summary: Goro Akechi arrives home from carrying out his latest mission: the murder of the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.  Where he expects pride, he instead feel misery.  Written for the prompt: Angst.





	Aftershot

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of Goro Week 2019: Angst.

Goro Akechi slammed hard against the bed. A thorough face plant disrupting the neatly made covers. 

Fuck it all. 

He had hoped that killing the leader of the Phantom Thieves would ease his mind. Be exciting. Receive at least a little bit of praise. 

Instead he had been berated, the kill had felt too easy, and his mind was left reeling. 

He felt more pressure than ever to make sure he succeeded. In making sure he took Shido down. To make everything worth it.

The encroaching elections shoved the time table against him, cornering him into a decision he had made two years ago.

And he had just killed the person most able to help him. Not just most able. Most likely. Joker could have become his greatest ally.

And he had just murdered him. Smiling. 

Goro rolled over on his back. His crime board, filled with every article pertaining to the Phantom Thieves, pictures of all the members, and notes on every public statement he had personally made and when stared down at him. 

He had at least one picture of every suspected member of the Phantom Thieves, and information on those he thought might work with them. The owner of Leblanc. The volleyball player who had fought with Kamoshida before his break down. Even the washed up politician Akira Kurusu helped campaign. 

Akira Kurusu. Joker. Leader of the Phantom Thieves. Goro Akechi had far more than one picture of that one. 

With a low growl and a sudden burst of energy, Goro rolled so he sat directly facing the board. 

He didn’t know why it made him angry, but it needed to go. 

Push pins rained down upon him. Newspaper clippings let out satisfying rips. His notes whipped up a blizzard of notebook paper. Photos sent their pins flying, refusing to relent to Goro’s fury. . 

Why did he have all this junk? None of it mattered. 

He put extra force in tearing down the photos of Akira Kurusu. That pointedly blank Shujin photo. The photo Goro had snapped of him behind the counter at Leblanc. And especially the one from Shujin Academy’s trip to Hawaii. 

Why in hell did he even have that? A photo of a guy in a bathing suit didn’t help with the case.

Goro growled again, seizing a photo of Akira slipping into a bar in Shinjuku and tearing it to shreds.

And the one of him visiting that charlatan fortune teller. And the one of Akira and a maid in the neighborhood laundry facility.

Did he think hiring his homeroom teacher as a maid somehow made him cool? 

Did he sleep with her?

Or what about the doctor in Yogen-Jaya? Or Anne? Or Makoto? 

Goro tore apart the photos of Akira with various girls until he started scratching his own fingers for want of something to grab. 

Did that ass really think no one realized he was dating multiple girls at once? That he desperately hooked up wtih everyone posessed of a fucking vagina? Was he really that….

Goro slumped, falling backwards onto his mattress. Even that didn’t seem low enough though, and so he slid down the bed until his back rested on the now littered floor. 

He stared up at his plain ceiling, wanting to scream. 

Killing Akira Kurusu may have stopped the Phantom Thieves, but right now that didn’t feel worth spit. No praise. No easy way ahead. No Akira.. 

Just a pain he couldn’t explain. 

A pain which sabotaged his body. It brought water to his eyes, and sound to his lips.

It refused to stay cooped inside him. Refused to just go away. 

It wasn’t fair. How could he be in so much agony when everything was finally going so well? The Phantom Thieves had fallen right into his trap. Their leader was dead. 

The pain grasped his heart and lungs, squeezing until he could barely breathe. Until he couldn’t make the sounds it demanded of him. 

Have to relieve the pressure. 

Goro forced himself to kneel on the cold floor. His eyes darted around the room, searching. 

Relieve the pressure. Before he exploded.

His eyes moved to the tiny kitchen. 

There.

He slowly stood, gasping for breath with each movement. 

There. His knives. 

Just enough to release the pressure.

  
  


The fact Goro Akechi didn’t answer the door when Tama knocked didn’t really surprise him. Nor did the fact that Goro had locked said door. 

Tama knocked again. “I got a beef bowl for you.”

No response. A little odd that. A promise of food usually brought the teenager to the door. If not, Goro almost always shouted something about not being hungry or too busy to eat.

Hmm.

Tama pressed an ear against the door. The sound of falling water. 

That didn’t surprise him either. After what Goro had just done, anyone would want to shower. 

“I’m coming in.”

Still no response. Maybe he couldn’t hear from the shower? 

Tama fumbled around a moment to get to the inside pocket of his coat. He made a point of keeping the spare key to Goro Akechi’s apartment on him at all times. Not only did it mean easy access for him, but he figured the kid would rather only have one intruder to worry about.

Tama slowly opened the door, announcing himself once more before stepping inside. 

Three things immediately caught his attention.

One: Goro’s shoes weren’t where they belonged. They sat in the middle of the tiny foyer and still faced inside the apartment. Goro always slide them to the sid and rotated the shoes so he could easily slide them on when heading out. 

Two: The room was a mess. Paper and pins littered the bed and the area around it. A quick glance verified that the wall beside the bed, the one where Goro kept notes on the Phantom Thieves cases, was clear except for a few pins stubbornly clinging to a tiny scrap of photos or paper. 

Third: Goro’s coat just lay in the middle of that mess, crumpled on the floor. He always hung it up.

Tama carefully navigated the mess to avoid stepping on any pins and set the beef bowl on Goro’s computer desk. At least that looked okay. 

Unfortunately, the more he looked around, the more worried he got. All the pictures of Akira Kurusu had been pointedly shredded. Plus, Goro was showering, but it didn’t look like he had undressed. Given the miniscule size of the bathroom, that didn’t seem like a great plan. 

Then he saw the attache case in the foyer. It lay at an odd angle against the kitchen counter, like it had simply been flung aside. 

Not good at all. He remembered when Goro had first gotten that case, and how he never let anyone else touch it. Wherever Goro put it, he always placed it carefully. 

Tama knocked loudly on the bathroom door. “Goro, you good?”

Nothing. 

He banged on the door. “You better not be hiding in that damned mind space!”

Still nothing. Tama growled. He tried the handle. While the bathroom didn’t lock, Goro had clearly jammed it so it wouldn’t open easily. 

He’d probably set that up the moment he’d moved in. 

Tama slammed a hand against the door. “Answer me, Masa!”

Still nothing. 

Not good. He always responded quickly and negatively to his old nickname.

Suddenly hoping Goro wasn’t in there, Tama slammed his shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. And then open, Tama stumbling inside to slam his knees against the toilet. 

He turned to the shower and small, but deep, tub. 

There was Goro Akechi, fully clothed. 

The water fell clear, but left red. 

  
  
  


Goro Akechi heard Tama knock. He just didn’t care. He lay in the tub, staring at his right hand. A jagged line crossed the palm, blood slowly sliding out. 

He clenched his hand into a tight fist, letting out a slight gasp as the pain shot up his arm. 

Good. Now he had a reason to hurt. He kept slowly clenching and unclenching, relishing every shot of pain.

He was vaguely aware of Tama entering the apartment, but still couldn’t bring himself to care. The cuts on both his hands were shameful, but Tama had seen worse.

Things could always get worse.

He began flexing his fingers on both hands. His hands were raw from trying to wash away Akira’s blood, and so instead of trying to wash it away he had decided to cover it with his own. Small cuts on his fingers. Deeper cut on his palm. 

It still didn’t match his hurt. And already his body grew numb to the shots of pain when he moved. 

“Goro, you good?”

Why wouldn’t the hurt go away? The pain from his cuts already had already dissipated, but this hurt…

Why the fuck wouldn’t it just go away!

“You better not be hiding in that damned mind space!”

Goro curled up tighter, wrapping his head in his bloody hands. He didn’t want anyone to see him hurting. And he definitely didn’t want Tama’s weird theories. 

Maybe if he freshened the cuts. Then his body would hurt again. Then he could let the pain out. 

“Answer me, Masa!”

Goro instinctively flinched, curling up even tighter. Some of the water got into his mouth, and he could taste the blood in it. What did it matter? Let him drown in his own fucking blood. 

He deserved it. 

He heard the door burst open, but it didn’t seem worth the effort to look. 

If he listened to water and felt the cuts, then he could forget everything else. 

The water stopped.

“Masa? Goro? Look at me.”

Why?

“Come on, I worry when you don’t talk back.”

So worry.

Large hands reached under his arms. A moment later Goro, still curled, began rising from the tub. 

“You’re the one who said this wasn’t the time for second guesses.”

Who was second guessing? He still intended to go through with his plans for Shido. This had nothing to do with that. 

“Damnit, Goro! You’d be easier to haul out of here if you went limp.”

That was the point.

Tama seemed to get that too, changing his pull to just roll Goro full on his back.

Fine. Goro let his arms go limp. One hands rested behind his head, the other on his forehead. 

Tama glared down at him. 

Goro looked in his direction, but didn’t really see him. He didn’t care what the man did at this point. 

He’d already killed Akira. Why wouldn’t he do the same to his manager?

“What the hell, Goro?” 

Tama turned away for a moment, only to turn back with a towel. He grabbed Goro’s hand. 

He began carefully drying Goro’s hand and forearm. “Bandages won’t stick if they’re wet.” 

Goro could only look at the dark red towel for a moment. He didn’t want to look at that shade of red right now. 

“It’s been a long time since you pulled a stunt like this.”

Goro’s hand slammed into the white plastic as Tama unceremoniously grabbed the other. 

“You can’t lose focus now.”

Goro glared at him.

Tama let out a relieved sounding laugh. “Good. You’re getting some of your spunk back.” He dropped the towel on Goro’s face. 

Goro heard Tama walk away. A drawer opened. Cloth fell to the floor. 

“Change outta those before you catch cold.”

Goro sat part way up, towel falling from his face. 

He wasn’t sure why, but the hurt felt just a little less painful. 

  
  


Tama carefully went through the first aid kit, setting aside what he’d need. He’d found the knife Goro had used in the kitchen, a serrated beast that must have hurt quite a bit, and now wanted to make sure he tended the wound properly.

That palm cut probably warranted a trip to the doctor, but that wasn’t happening. Goro trusted doctors even less than he trusted politicians, and only slightly more than he trusted law enforcement. 

Well, at least Goro kept a pretty solid first aid kit on hand. He easily found disinfectant and appropriate bandages. He set them down, along with scissors to cut them, on Goro’s bedside table. 

A moment later, Goro came out of the bathroom. He had indeed changed into the sweatpants Tama had tossed in for him, and had a towel draped around his shoulders. 

He looked so small like this. Like he might simply keel over. 

Tama didn’t think he’d blame Goro if he did. 

He gestured for Goro to sit beside him. 

Goro plopped right down. 

Tama took Goro’s left hand. Might as well start with the one he could reach easily.

Goro turned his head to the side. 

“I know you’re not squeamish.”

He felt the hand flex at that. Strange. Goro had seen things which made even Tama blanch, and not so much as flinched. So why was he so bothered now? 

Then he noticed just how dry Goro’s hands were too. Worn raw from too many washes. 

They’d been fine just a few days ago. 

Tama sighed. “I take it you were successful.”

“Trivial,” Goro replied flatly. No pride seeped into that quiet response.

Honestly? Tama hadn’t expected any. 

“Turn around.”

“Hmmm?”

“I need you to turn so I can get the other hand,” Tama explained. 

He was somewhat relieved when Goro gracefully turned on the bed, now sitting so he faced the wall. 

Tama gently took the more injured right hand. “I see you retained enough sense not to damage your main hand too bad.” 

“No room for mistakes,” Goro whispered. 

Tama gently wrapped a bandage around Goro’s palm. “And regret?”

Goro didn’t turn to him, but Tama got the definite sense he was on the receiving end of a sideways glare. 

“You didn’t have to go through with it.”

Goro turned his head fully away again. 

“I offered you shelter in Yokohama.”

“And when Shido became Prime Minister?” Goro whispered.

“You’d already be out of the country,” Tama assured him. He cut the bandage. “I smuggle people for a living, Goro. I can get you out.”

“Like hell I’d do that.”

Tama sighed, moving on to the smaller cuts. Of course Goro wouldn’t. He knew that. Goro practically refused to enter Tama’s home in Yokohama. It had belonged to the previous boss, after all. 

Before a sudden break in his psyche caused him to mutilate himself and hang from the rafters. 

Rumor was that the guilt for every awful thing he’d ever done had descended upon him all at once. 

Given the recent Phantom Thief case, Tama could believe it. 

And given everything he’d learned about the boss he once looked up to, the consequences no longer surprised him. 

He looked at Goro, wondering what would happen if the teen took a bit of his own medicine.

Glancing back down at the bandaged hand, Tama realized that perhaps Goro already had. 

  
  


Goro sat at his desk. A newsreel streamed from his computer, and he had the rather lukewarm beef bowl in front of him. 

Tama had threatened Goro that if he didn’t eat, he’d set up a live television appearance during finals. 

Goro wasn’t quite sure why he cared. The odds any of that would matter after he took down Shido weren’t great, but he still cared. He had worked hard to climb up from dead last in everything but Japanese and English to always being the top one or two on every test, and in every subject. 

He wasn’t going down with people thinking he was a bad student, at least. 

Goro lifted some meat to his mouth. He generally liked simple foods, but tonight the sweet sauce and onions were highly unappealing. 

At least it wasn’t curry.

Goro popped the thin strip of beef into his mouth. Actual desire to eat aside, it still tasted like always. 

Goro sighed. Everything just the same. 

He glanced over to his phone, now sitting in a bag of rice, silently hoping for a message from the group chat. 

Nothing. Of course not. Akira had vouched for him more than anyone else. With him gone no one else had any reason to contact him, assuming they didn’t realize what had happened. 

He looked up to the news. Some stupid health story about a popular diet. One which undoubtedly left some thinner, some sicker, and some with nothing to show at all. One which would blow away like all fads, forgotten within a year or two. 

Like him? 

Goro jabbed his chopsticks into the rice bowl, letting them stand straight up. 

At least for a moment he’d matter, dammit. At least for a moment, for the span of a fad, he’d be all anyone could talk about. 

He’d taken down the Phantom Thieves. He was about to take down Masayoshi Shido, and right after he became prime minister. About to expose society’s deeply rooted corruption.

He’d tear it all apart. Rip it to shreds. Tear down the curtain in front of everyone, until they all realized just how miserable it really was. Just how awful they were. 

The Phantom Thieves had done everything one at a time. Had avoided giving their victims total breakdowns. 

They were too kind. Too trapped in the illusion that life could be fundamentally good. 

There was nothing worth living for if not to tear down the curtain. If not to watch Masayoshi Shido fall.

Besides. If he didn’t take Shido down, then what was the point?

**Author's Note:**

> This story offers one of the best looks into my headcannon of any I've written so far. I'm glad I got to introduce Tama and lean into some of the backstory I've got in my brain for Goro.


End file.
